


bury me on a hill, and tell Rosie where

by gruenglas



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruenglas/pseuds/gruenglas
Summary: She felt an ugly, raw sound clawing its way out of her, fighting its way out of her clenched teeth, making up space inbetween the walls of the kitchen that felt like they were closing in on her, rapidly. Someone had killed her husband. Someone had put an end to his kind eyes and his broad hands and his proud face when he ruffled his sons’ hair in the morning.After shooting Danny and getting him on the way to London, Tommy visits Rosie to tell her about her husband's death. Set right at the end of Season 1 Episode 1.
Relationships: Danny "Whizz-Bang" Owen & Rosie Owen (Peaky Blinders)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	bury me on a hill, and tell Rosie where

She had waited half an hour after the boys went to sleep, her dinner still untouched before her and growing cold. Then she waited another one. Still no sign of her husband. She took to her own plate, but the bubble and squeak had gone cold next to the cold meat left over from Sunday and she ate more out of obligation than enjoyment.

When Dan still wasn’t home as she finished, she started doing the washing up. Dan’s plate found a place on the windowsill, as not to be in her way. It was unlike him to come home this late. The only exception was when he had one of his flashbacks to the War. He was unpredictable then, usually having to be brought home by one of the men. More often than not it was Thomas.

She was drying the last of the plates, the threads of the cotton catching on the skin of her hands, roughed and dry from the carbolic soap she had used to scrub the washing clean. Washdays were always hard on her hands.

The curtains moved slightly under a small stream of air coming in through a new gap between the kitchen window and its frame. With it came a trickle of the stench that flooded the streets outside. She would ask Dan to see to it tomorrow. It was getting colder every day, and with colder weather the smoke from the chimneys sunk lower into streets. It had the bad habit of seeping into the kitchen and laying itself over the porridge in the morning like a blanket.

There were steps outside. Quickly approaching. The set of one pair of feet, but not Dan’s gait. Three fast raps on the door. That wasn’t Dan. Clutching the dish towel with her left hand, Rose moved across the kitchen and to the front door. She hesitated.

The man outside must have heard her steps.  
“Rose. It’s me. Let me in.”

She recognized that voice. It wasn’t Dan.

Trying to ignore the worry starting to form in her stomach she opened the door to a cold drizzle of rain and the dark silhouette of Thomas Shelby, illuminated at the edges by the orange light of the lanterns.

“May I come in?”

She could smell the stench of the streets on him, faintly, under the damp smell of rain on his fine woollen suit. With a wave of her hand she let him in and closed the door behind him.

He was standing in their kitchen, looking around as if he had suddenly forgot the reason for his visit.

“Can I get you a glass of something?”

“No. Thanks. I…”

He sighed. His hand came up to his face, rubbing across as if to hide the way his brows almost met each other in worry above his nose. He took off his hat and looked at her. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. In the light of the kitchen table lamp she could see delicate blood stains on his collar.

He drew in a breath, as if to steel himself for what he was about to say.

“Rose. I’m truly sorry,” he began, worrying his hat between his hands. “Danny… He has been shot.”

A heartbear.

“No.”

For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure who had spoken, but it must have been her.

His gaze, which had wandered to the kitchen floor, snapped up to her face again.

“You can’t be serious Thomas. Why would anyone –“ It couldn’t be true. Surely Danny would open the door right this moment, cross the kitchen to greet her and press a kiss to her hair, and then sit down at the desk with a heavy sigh and tuck into his dinner.

“He had… he had an episode, a flashback. He wasn’t himself, you know how he gets. A barber attacked him with a knife, and Danny defended himself, still thinking he was back in France. He was Italian, the barber, and his brothers… They wanted compensation. They shot him.”

He took three steps across the kitchen, which seemed so small suddenly, shrinking in on her.

“I’m sorry, Rose.”

Dan would not come through the door. It was just the kitchen now, her world narrowed down to walls, desk, the towel in her hand and the cold feeling of dread pooling in her stomach, rising in her throat, threatening to spill over and onto the very cheeks Danny would hold in his warm, calloused hands when he smiled at her.  
She felt an ugly, raw sound clawing its way out of her, fighting its way out of her clenched teeth, making up space inbetween the walls of the kitchen that felt like they were closing in on her, rapidly. Someone had killed her husband. Someone had put an end to his kind eyes and his broad hands and his proud face when he ruffled his sons’ hair in the morning.

Rose took the last step towards the man in front of her. Toward the man who did not bring Dan home to her in the most final way possible. Took the step towards him and his hat and his damp jacket and the bloodstains on his collar and. Hit him. Once. Twice. A third time. And then again, again, again in rapid succession. Her face was now wet with boiling hot tears.

He didn’t move. Smart. She would have hit him in the face if he had dared to. He let her use his chest as a boxing sack and didn’t so much as blink, letting her work out her first wave of anger. She kept hitting his chest, the damp dish towel still clutched in her fist, until she felt exhausted.

When she stopped, he took her by the shoulders, carefully, and moved back until he stood an armslength away from her.

“He asked me to see to it that you and your boys are taken care of. He was a brave man, we fought side by side, and I will honour his wishes. I promise you, everything you need will be taken care of.”

“Take me to him.” Rose finally looked up into his eyes, which bore an expression she could not quite place.

“I’m afraid he is on the way to being buried as we speak.”

There was anger again welling up in her chest. He hadn’t even the basic decency to let her see her husband? She shook off his hands. They came down to his sides like the arms of a child before he regained control of them.

“I want to see my husband. Take me there.”

**Author's Note:**

> As of now I have only seen the very first episode, so I don't know if Rosie ever appears on the show (but i guess not). I wanted to know how she would react, although I am not familiar enough with Tommy yet to know if that is how he would tell her the news.
> 
> I did do some research on food and washing in the early 20th century (if anyone is interested, this: https://www.1900s.org.uk/ is an interesting resource for the time around the turn of the century!)


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